


Deeper Than All Roses

by infinitestarsintheskye



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forbidden Love, Jemma's parents aren't great, Lady Jemma, Lance Hunter (mentioned) - Freeform, Milton (mentioned), gardener fitz, low key inspired by atonement and lady chatterley's lover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:40:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29219640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinitestarsintheskye/pseuds/infinitestarsintheskye
Summary: April, 1939Jemma Simmons, the daughter of a baronet, has no interest in marriage, much to her parents frustration. Their plans to marry her off to the eldest son of the neighboring estate sends her running into the rose garden,  pushing her into the arms of someone most unexpected.
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 38
Kudos: 51





	1. White

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rathxritter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rathxritter/gifts).



> Betcha thought I’d never write this huh? SO in like August of last year the lovely Kate (@rathxritter) sent me a prompt for an ask game, writing a plot based on just a title, and Kate sent me the prompt: Deeper Than All Roses and it absolutely sent my imagination RIOT!! I have wanted to write it properly ever since and in the new year I DID!! I’m very nervous about posting this tbh, but also so very excited!! Thanks again Kate for this prompt, and I hope you enjoy it and think I did the thing justice!!

_ The white rose is associated with feelings of innocence and chastity, and are generally associated with new beginnings.  _

**April, 1939.**

Kiftsgate House was not the most grand house in the area. It wasn’t large, not in comparison to the neighbouring estates, the grander, more modern architecture of them making that of Kiftsgate House pale in comparison. The gardens however, were widely regarded as the finest in the country. The family took great pride in them, especially in the rose garden which was, rightly so, world renowned. The house had been in the possession of the Simmons family since 1660, gifted to them by Charles II for their loyalty to the throne during the bleak years of Cromwell’s rule. Sir Arthur Simmons, and his wife Lady Helena Simmons, the current residents, were very proud of the house and its history. They had one daughter, Jemma, the heiress of Kiftsgate House and the surrounding estate. Jemma was a very bright girl, more so than her parents could really fathom. Her intelligence had always bewildered her parents, never knowing quite what to do with her. It had been deemed only right to send her away to school when she was eight, coming home over the summer holidays and at Christmas, but never any time in between. When, at eighteen years old, Jemma arrived home from her finishing school in Switzerland, requesting that she be allowed to go to University to study the sciences, Sir Arthur had put his foot down. Whilst he knew it was far more common for young ladies to attend university these days, there was something about it that made him shudder. He was a titled person, they were a noteworthy family, they dined with the king for goodness sake! No, no daughter of his would be attending university. She would be presented to society and find a good husband and learn to be a good wife, mistress of the estate, and most importantly, hopefully the mother to the future master of Kiftsgate House. 

It had been six years since Jemma had been presented to society and yet, she remained unmarried. She had shown no interest in any of the  _ many  _ suitors that her parents had paraded past her, and they were beginning to despair. They did, however, have a plan. The neighbouring estate, Barton Hall, which was far larger, and far more prosperous than Kiftsgate House, was home to Lord and Lady Milton, the proud parents of five grown up sons. It was one of the few surviving large estates left in the country now, the twenties had not been a kind decade to the old country estates. Most were now gone completely, or chopped up into unrecognisable pieces. The eldest son, Mr Harold Milton, had just returned from a tour of Europe and was now looking for a wife. It would be ideal. The two estates could merge, become more prosperous, with Jemma and Harold being Lord and Lady of it all, after the demise of both of their fathers of course. 

“And so you see, Jemma my dearest, you’d be doing what’s best for both of our families. Think of how wonderful it would be for us all!” Lady Helena finished happily. 

Jemma frowned at her. 

“But I’ve not seen Harold Milton since I was a child! I wouldn’t know him from Adam, let alone know him well enough to love him or marry him!” Jemma exclaimed. 

Lady Helena let out a long sigh, and pinched the bridge of her nose in obvious frustration. 

“Jemma, dearest, you are almost twenty five years old. Most of the other young ladies of our acquaintance are already married and settled. You will have to marry someday.” Lady Helena insisted. 

“I don’t see why.” Jemma muttered, slumping back into her seat, her arms crossed petulantly.

“Because the continued success of this estate depends on it. If you do not marry, this estate will not pass onto your son, but onto some god awful distant cousin of mine. To make matters worse, I believe he’s American.” Sir Arthur boomed. 

“And would that be so very bad. I believe he’s an inventor. There could be worse things for the estate. Besides who's to say I’d ever have a son. You didn’t.” Jemma replied irritably. 

Jemma knew this was a low shot. Their lack of an heir was a particularly sore point for her mother and father, as she had been reminded of constantly throughout her childhood. 

“Harold Milton returns from town in two weeks. When he comes home, you and your mother will pay him a call, and you will be nothing if not utterly delightful and charming. We have already settled the matter with his parents. When he proposes, you will say yes. Do I make myself perfectly clear?” Sir Arthur shouted. 

“I do not want to marry him!” Jemma shouted back, standing up from her seat. 

“You will marry Harold Milton if it is the last thing you do my girl! I have not spent my entire life dedicated to this house, to this estate, to  _ you,  _ to let it crumble because you did not want to do your duty!” Sir Arthur bellowed. 

“You cannot make me!” Jemma cried. 

She felt tears stinging at the sides of her eyes, but she was determined not to let them fall. She would not be weak, not now. Unable to stand it any longer, Jemma pushed past her parents and ran straight out of the front door. She heard her father calling after her but she ignored it. The tears fell freely now as she ran, hardly even noticing where she was going. Privacy, safety, that was what she needed right now. The rose garden was surrounded by a large hedge, in fact it was almost maze-like. One could hide in there for hours. At the very back there was a small alcove, with a small bench, which was only found by those who knew the garden very well indeed. It was impossible to see it from the main house. Jemma had never seen another living soul there. It was where she liked to take her scientific papers, and periodicals when they came in. Yes, there she would find solace. 

By the time she reached the alcove, her tears were flowing fast and freely, so much so, Jemma could hardly even make out where it was she was going. But she knew the path well and her feet took her there automatically. Turning the corner, Jemma let out a large “oof!” as she ran into something solid. Wiping her eyes, and forcing herself to focus on the figure in front of her, she realised it was a person. 

“I am so sorry milady!” The figure cried. 

The voice surprised her, or more accurately, the Scottish brogue that surrounded the words, that filled them up with such a wonderfully thick and rich quality, was what really surprised her. Piercing blue eyes were the first thing she made out properly, so blue that she half expected to see small fish swimming by in them. 

“I can go, milady, if you want to sit here a while. I can come back and finish my work later. I-I’ve plenty else to do meanwhile.” The man protested. 

He was wearing brown coveralls, a pair of pruning scissors were clutched in one hand and a tweed flat cap was perched on top of dark caramel curls. Jemma recognised the gardeners uniform immediately. She recognised him, having seen him about when she was on her usual morning walk. He must have started here about a year ago, Jemma could not remember seeing him at all before then. He’d always smiled at her, whenever she’d seen him and she’d always thought he had kind eyes. But never did she think that she would have that confirmed so very closely. For some reason, the sight of him was overwhelming, to a degree that Jemma could not quite place, and it took a moment for the words to come to her. 

“N-no!” She cried, her voice still heavy from tears. 

“I’ll go somewhere else. I wouldn’t want to disturb your work!” She insisted, still wiping at her eyes. 

“It really is no trouble milady!” The gardener continued. 

Tears welled up in Jemma’s eyes again, and she could not help it when they spilled down her face. 

“I’m-I’m sorry milady! Did I-I say something?” The man stammered. 

Jemma just shook her head. It took her a moment to register the hand at her back, leading her further into the alcove, over to the bench. She sat down, but the heat of his hand lingered for a moment. Something white flashed before her eyes and when she looked up, she saw a white handkerchief hanging from the end of the gardener’s hand. Jemma took it gratefully, wiping at her eyes, willing the tears to stop. 

“C-can I fetch someone?” He offered gently. 

“No. No I came here to get away.” Jemma replied, not thinking. 

“O-oh.” He stammered. 

“Would you like me to go, milady?” 

Jemma shook her head again. 

“No. It’s okay. You’ve been too kind. I-I don’t even know your name.” 

“It’s Fitz milady. L-Leopold Fitz.” He replied. 

Jemma gave him a watery smile, and offered him back his handkerchief. 

“Well thank you Fitz. You really have been most kind.” Jemma said softly, trying to even out her voice. 

The gardener, Fitz, just smiled and shook his head. 

“No. You keep it. I’m sure you’ll put it to much better use.” He smiled gently. 

Jemma reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out her own handkerchief. 

“I have plenty. Really Fitz, I insist.” She replied, thrusting his handkerchief back at him.

Tentatively Fitz reached out and took it from her grasp, their fingers brushing as he did so. Something warm seemed to rush through Jemma at the contact, running from the tips of her fingers, down to the tops of her toes. Jemma let out a small gasp, her eyes fixed on his hand. Quickly she looked up and Fitz seemed to have experienced the same thing, as he was staring at his hand as if it suddenly did not belong to him. Simultaneously, or so it seemed, they both broke out of this reverie. 

“I-if you don’t mind my asking, milady, and if it’s not too impertinent, what was it that made you so upset? O-only I know sometimes, it can help to talk about it, if you’d rather I went I can just-” Fitz rambled. 

“No, it’s okay!” Jemma interrupted him with a small smile. 

Not that she had much wanted to interrupt him. The babbling had been endearing, but Jemma thought that if she let him go on, he may never stop. 

“It was my parents. They want me to marry some god awful man, from the neighbouring estate. Mr Harold Milton. He’s ten years older than me, I haven’t seen him since I was a child, and from what I remember he was an awful bully. He-he’s just come back from a tour of Europe, silly man with everything going on, and if the gossips in the village are to be believed he wasn’t there for just some sightseeing. But Mama and Papa say that it’s the right thing to do, for the family you see. But I just know I would be miserable, I know I would. I’m already such a disappointment to them, but I cannot pretend to be other than I am, and oh I just cannot marry someone who I do not love, who would belittle my interest in science and treat me like an object, oh I just can’t marry him!” Jemma cried, furious tears falling down her face. 

Jemma felt the weight on the bench shift slightly and a warm hand came up, touching her lightly on the shoulder. 

“I-I’m sorry milady.” 

“D-don’t be. I know there’s people going through a lot worse right now. I-I do read the papers. That Hitler really is beastly. I really don’t know what will become of it all. I know that this is not a problem of any great importance at all, it-it’s just not the life I imagined for myself.” Jemma continued, wiping her eyes again. 

“Milady, and excuse me for saying, but if it has you this upset, surely it is of great importance. Surely your happiness is important too. You’re their daughter, and surely dooming you to a life of misery isn’t really in their best interest. B-but maybe that’s ignorant.” Fitz said softly. 

Jemma just stared at him for a moment. What a wonderful man, she thought. What a good, kind soul he was. 

“No, it isn’t. It’s old fashioned. Less and less people are getting married for money these days, or at least they don’t advertise the fact so much any more. My father is an old soul, he just wants what’s best in his own way.” Jemma sighed. 

“I’m sure he does. Every interaction I’ve had with him, which honestly isn’t very much at all, makes me think he’s a decent man, and I know he’s a decent employer. But surely you should have a say. It is 1939 for goodness sake.” Fitz half laughed. 

Jemma joined him. 

“Yes. Yes it is. But I couldn’t convince him to let me go to university when I wanted, much less anything else, and I wanted that more than I wanted anything in the world. He’s determined. I saw it in his eyes.” Jemma replied quietly. 

“R-really? What would you have studied?” Fitz asked inquisitively. 

“Chemistry or biology. Perhaps both. Biochemistry is an up and coming field right now, and I so would have loved to have been allowed to study it.” Jemma responded enthusiastically. 

Fitz looked taken aback. 

“That’s- that’s marvelous. I’d have liked to have gone too, but my dad uh, well he died in the war and we couldn’t quite manage.” He admitted. 

“Oh Fitz. Oh I am sorry. What a ghastly thing to have happened when you were so young.” 

Jemma’s hand quickly darted out, covering his hand with her own. The warmth felt more intense this time, his bright blue eyes connecting with her deep brown ones, and she felt a warmth prickle up her neck. It was the oddest thing. Jemma really could not account for it at all. 

“It’s alright, milady. I was only four. Not much to remember from that age.” Fitz said softly. 

His gaze was so intent, it was as if he was seeing deep into her, and she, him, and it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant feeling. Jemma swallowed hard, trying to think of something else to say, but it was as if her mind had gone numb. 

“W-what would you have studied? If you could have gone?” Jemma stammered, once somehow the ability of speech returned to her.

“E-engineering. My teachers always said I had a talent for physics and I like to build things.” Fitz replied quickly. 

Jemma was pleasantly surprised. 

“I’m-I’m sure you would have been wonderful. H-have you read much about Howard Stark? The American? Claims to be working on a flying car in the last periodical I read.” Jemma asked interestedly. 

“I have!” Fitz smiled. 

“I think he’s a bit mad personally, but the work actually seems rather sound and well, the girls seem to like him.” He grinned, his face going rather flush. 

Jemma laughed. The article in question had been accompanied by a large flashy photo of Stark, some girl laughing whilst clutching to his arm. Whilst Jemma would freely admit that he was handsome, she wouldn’t exactly call him her type. 

“Not all girls, I assure you. Whilst I’m sure he’s very clever, he’s a bit gauche for my taste.” Jemma smiled. 

Fitz’s face turned a deeper shade of red and he opened his mouth to speak when…

“Fitz! Are you still pruning back there? Mack says it’s time for lunch!” A voice shouted from over one of the high hedges. 

They both jumped, and that was when Jemma realised that her hand was still on his. Fitz pulled his hand away, and jumped up from the bench as if someone had given him a rather sudden, rather nasty, electric shock. 

“That’s uh, that’s Hunter. I should uh-go before he comes looking for me. I’m not sure it would be very good for your reputation if we were found here like this together, and uh- god knows Hunter wouldn’t keep it to himself.” Fitz said quickly, swallowing heavily. 

“Don’t worry.” Jemma smiled kindly.

“According to Mama, I’ve apparently already scared off every suitor from here to London and back. That’s why they’ve had to fish one out from Europe. My reputation isn’t worth worrying about.” 

“Fitz!” The voice called again. 

“I-I should go.” 

“Yes, yes of course. Thank you Fitz. For the handkerchief and the sympathy. You have been most kind. I shan't forget it.” 

The blush that had slowly been fading away from Fitz’s face, flared up again, reaching the very tips of his ears. 

“N-no problem. My handkerchief is always at your service.”   
  


It was Jemma’s turn to blush. Fitz gave her a smile, which somehow, managed to shake her to her very core. He really was rather handsome, some small part of her brain thought. Fitz stooped to pick up his abandoned pruning scissors and gloves, placing them carefully in the basket that Jemma had somehow not noticed until now. 

“Goodbye, milady. Perhaps I’ll see you around the garden sometime?” Fitz smiled softly. 

He doffed his hat at her before turning, and quickly disappearing from sight. 

“I hope so.” Jemma whispered only to herself. 

She fell back onto the bench, her heart racing somewhat. Jemma wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened but she knew deep in her heart that it had been important. Perhaps maybe it had been the most important thing she’d experienced thus far in her life. She stared at her hand, flexing it gently. The touch had been innocent, comforting, consoling, so why did it feel like so much more? 

Fitz appeared in Jemma’s dreams that night. His smile seemed to haunt her, as did the magnificent blue of his eyes, and the soft touch of his hands. She woke up, her heart pounding, her face burning, before she sunk back into her soft pillows, willing herself to calm down, for her hands to stop shaking so she could maybe get some rest. 

When she came down the stairs for breakfast the next morning, she had already smuggled a periodical in the waistband of her skirt, intending to escape to the alcove again, as soon as she’d finished. 

“Good morning darling.” Sir Arthur huffed from behind his newspaper as Jemma entered the dining room. 

“Any plans for the morning?” 

“I was going to go for a walk after breakfast. I’m due a reply from my friend Miss Johnson, if it comes with the morning post, I might take it with me.” Jemma said as she placed scrambled eggs delicately onto her plate. 

Sir Arthur gave an unimpressed noise. 

“The American?” He asked distastefully, as if the very thought of it was poison in his mouth.

“Yes Papa, the American. Daisy and I got on like houses when we met in Switzerland. I do wish I could invite her here.” Jemma replied defiantly. 

“That is absolutely out of the question.” Sir Arthur responded automatically. 

It was no secret that Sir Arthur thought that Americans were loud and rude, and utterly obscene, to use his words. Well, Jemma thought, Daisy was perhaps a little louder than your average person, but a nicer girl she had yet to meet. The year they had spent together at that ghastly finishing school in Switzerland had been the happiest of Jemma’s life, and they had kept in regular correspondence ever since. This latest rejection of her visiting Kiftsgate House, was one in a very long line. Jemma had long since stopped getting upset about it. The rest of breakfast passed in relative silence. Jemma had long run out of things to say to her father, and besides, she could not pretend that she was not still deeply hurt and upset by the events of the day before. When the morning post did in fact finally arrive, bringing her letter from Daisy, Jemma took it as her moment to excuse herself and escape out into the grounds. 

The April air was refreshing, and the very first strokes of gentle heat were making their way through the clouds. As she walked out into the lukewarm spring air, Jemma started with Daisy’s letter. Her writings were always most enthusiastic and never failed to bring a smile to Jemma’s face. She had a new beau, a Mr Campbell, Jemma read, was a doctor, and sounded more than capable of handling her rather excitable friend. Grinning, Jemma mentally planned out her reply. She’d sit down and write it after lunch, when Mama and Papa were out, and she could go into the library and read and study to her heart's content. She would have to tell her about the awful plan to marry her off. If anyone could come up with a solution it would be Daisy. She may just insist that she come over and join her in the states, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d offered to pay her passage over. Both Daisy’s poor mother and father had died when she was very young, and she’d been left in the care of her grim great Aunt Agnes, who’d shuffled her around various boarding schools her whole life. Her father had left her a substantial fortune, which Daisy had taken advantage of as soon as she came of age. Many times she had insisted on Jemma travelling across to meet her in New York, but she’d never quite managed to say yes. This perhaps would be the final straw. Jemma tucked the letter into her skirt pocket and headed for the rose garden, making sure she was deep enough in, before pulling the scientific periodical out from where she’d stashed it in the back waistband of her skirt. Almost mindlessly, Jemma found that her feet were leading her towards the alcove, and she let them, allowing herself to get lost in an article about the improvements being made to gas masks. Jemma furrowed her brow. There were still people that were saying that they wouldn’t go to war, not again, but if the manufacturers were gearing up with gas masks again, surely it did not bode well, Jemma thought. Just as she began to read a far more interesting article about natural bioluminescence, she found herself colliding with something rather solid. 

“We really must stop meeting like this milady.” Fitz grinned, his hands wrapped around her upper arms, steadying her carefully. 

Jemma felt herself go pink. 

“I’m so sorry Fitz! It is entirely my fault, I was too wrapped up in reading, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.” 

“It’s no problem milady. No harm done. If you don’t mind my asking, what was it that you were reading that had you so distracted?” Fitz asked with a smile.

Jemma held out the periodical, and Fitz pulled off his gardening gloves, before taking it gently from her. 

“A-an article about natural bioluminescence. It occurs primarily in marine life but has been displayed in many insects too, f-fireflies for example.” Jemma babbled. 

Fitz flicked through a few pages, his eyes wandering quickly across the various headlines, before looking back up at her again. 

“My copy arrived yesterday morning, but I haven’t had a chance to read it yet. It’s still back at my cottage. Anything else worth reading?” He asked. 

“Nothing else I’ve found yet. The engineering companies seem to be gearing up for a war however, which is really nothing less than terrifying. The stories coming from Europe these days are just…” 

“Awful, yes. Makes me want to stop reading the paper some days. But I suppose you cannot exactly live your life with your head in the sand.” Fitz finished. 

“Precisely. It seems silly to pretend otherwise, don’t you think?” Jemma asked, unable to keep the small shake from her voice. 

“O-of course milady. Foolish, to pretend the world is other than it is.” He stammered back. 

He held out the magazine towards her again, and Jemma took it, her fingers brushing against his once again. That same wonderful feeling spread suddenly through her again, and Jemma felt the blush on her face deepen. 

“I-uh I wish to thank you again, for looking after me yesterday. I realised i-in retrospect that my behaviour wasn’t entirely proper, but I-I shan’t forget your kindness to me, Fitz. I-in fact I have…” 

“Hardly been able to stop thinking of it since? W-was that what you were going to say?” Fitz asked tenderly. 

Their hands had hardly moved from where they had been, mere millimeters and they would be touching again. Jemma’s breath seemed to catch in her throat. She’d met this man only yesterday. How on earth could he have such an effect on her in such a short period of time? 

“Y-yes. Precisely.” Jemma stammered. 

“M-me either.” Fitz admitted, his voice low, doing something to his brogue which made Jemma feel as though she may spontaneously combust. 

Looking up into his eyes, Jemma wondered how on earth he’d gotten so very close. She watched as, out of the corner of her eye, his other hand twitched, as it started to move, to reach out to hers, when…

“Fitz!” 

The same voice that had disturbed them yesterday came hollering over the hedges yet again. Jemma felt as though someone had doused her in ice cold water. She sprang back from him, and Fitz did likewise. 

“Mack wants your opinion on this rhododendron bush! He wants to take it out completely but I think it’ll just leave a big gap and that we should just prune it!” The voice continued, unaware of what he’d just disturbed. 

“I’ll be there in a moment! I’m just finishing up something here!” Fitz called back, a shake noticeable in his voice. 

“Alright mate!” The voice replied. 

Fitz turned back to Jemma, his eyes wide. 

“I-I should go.” He stammered, pulling his gloves out from his pocket again. 

“Milady.” He said quietly, doffing his cap at her once again. 

“Jemma.” She blurted without thinking. 

“Please, call me Jemma.” She continued. 

Fitz gave her a small smile. 

“As you wish mil- I mean, Jemma.” He grinned, before turning. 

He’d barely taken two steps away from her, when Jemma felt a pull, deep in her stomach. 

“Fitz wait!” She called after him. 

Immediately he turned, his eyes wide. 

“Yes Jemma?” 

She thought she may melt at the sound of her name on his lips. 

“W-what time do you finish this evening?” Jemma asked, almost without thinking. 

“We normally finish up for the day about half past five.” Fitz replied. 

Something rushed through Jemma, she wasn’t quite sure what, but she knew that if she didn’t say something, do something, that she may well regret it for the rest of her life. 

“Meet me? In the alcove, at seven. I’ll eat early this evening. Mama and Papa are going out to some awful society thing. It’ll just be me, and I don’t like to stick to things when it’s just myself. We-we can talk some more if you like? I-I find that I rather enjoy your company. I should like to spend more time with you.W-we could discuss the magazine a little further, if you like?” 

How she got it all out, coherently too, Jemma would never know. Fitz seemed to gape at her a second. 

“A-are you sure? W-what if we’re found?” Fitz stammered. 

“We won’t be. No one comes that far into the gardens at night. I’ll bring a lamp. No one will find us. I-I promise.” Jemma assured. 

Slowly, Fitz nodded, and Jemma felt her heart leap. 

“Then yes. I’ll meet you. Seven o’clock you said?” Fitz asked. 

“Yes. Seven.” Jemma affirmed, giving him a small smile. 

Fitz returned it, and doffed his hat at her once more. 

“I’ll see you then, Jemma.” He seemed to breathe, before turning, and heading off in the direction of the voice that had disturbed them.

Jemma let out a long sigh as she watched him go. She was not quite sure what it was that she had done, but if she was certain of one thing, it was that nothing would quite be the same again. Not after tonight. Her heart seemed to pound in utter anticipation, even now. It felt right, whatever this was. Jemma could not quite put her finger on it but that was how it felt. Taking a deep breath in, Jemma let the delicate sweet smell of the many roses surrounding her overwhelm her senses. Seven o’clock she thought with a smile. Seven o’clock. 

Sir Arthur and Lady Helena Simmons departed Kiftsgate House for the evening at about five thirty. They had been out most of the day, and Jemma was revelling in the liberty to do exactly as she pleased all day long. If this were any other day, she’d eat early, retire to the library and read for an hour or two. Papa never liked it when she read after dinner, protesting that it was a time to be sociable, to be with family. On a night like this, she may even sneak a glass of her father’s good port that he kept safely tucked in the bottom drawer of his desk. But this was no ordinary evening, Jemma thought as she tucked into her dinner. She’d gone back and forth so many times in her head about the matter, about whether she would go or stay. It was reckless to be entirely sure, but oh, she wanted to go. Jemma finished eating quickly, and dismissed the servants off to their own dinner. 

“I might go for a short walk Mrs Bassett.” Jemma said to the housekeeper, trying to keep calm. 

“It is such a lovely night, and I should hate to waste it cooped up indoors.” She smiled. 

“Very good milady. Would you like me to fetch your coat?” Mrs Bassett asked. 

“Oh no, I can get it myself. You enjoy your evening Mrs Bassett.” 

The older woman smiled at her, before nodding curtly and exiting down the servants passage. Jemma had always liked Mrs Bassett, she’d always been kind to her, even when she was a small girl. Jemma tried to keep on good terms with all of the servants at Kiftsgate, they were people after all. As soon as Mrs Bassett left, Jemma bolted up the stairs to fetch her coat from her room. Her eyes fell on the magazine that she’d been reading earlier, placed neatly on her desk. She stared at it for a moment, thinking. Before she could think about it far too much, Jemma grabbed it, folded it in half, and stuffed it into her jacket pocket. The house was blissfully empty and Jemma made her way back down the staircase, stopping only to grab an oil lamp from the hall cupboard. Looking at her watch as she made her way towards the rose garden, Jemma saw that it was five to seven. Would he be late, she thought, or early? Would he have brought his own copy of the magazine? Will he even turn up at all? It was an odd request, she knew. Oh gosh and she was a lady of the house. Perhaps he’d just been being polite all this time and now she was coming after him like some kind of a lunatic. But she’d seen the look in his eyes. They had reflected how she felt. Jemma couldn’t quite put into words how it was that she’d felt, but she’d seen it in his eyes. That warm, happy, excited, but all somehow nauseous feeling that seemed to overwhelm her whenever she was in Fitz’s presence. Coming up to the corner of the alcove, Jemma took a deep breath, before turning it. 

“Good evening mila- I mean, good evening Jemma.” Fitz smiled gently, rushing to his feet from where he’d been sitting, his cap clutched in his hands. 

Jemma beamed. She’d had no reason to fret. Fitz had done something to his hair, combed it or slicked it back or something, and gone were the brown overalls, replaced with a neat tweed suit. The trouser on it was too short, and the jacket too tight around his shoulders, just Jemma didn’t mind. She thought he looked handsome anyway. 

“Good evening Fitz. Please, sit down. No need to stand at attention on my account.” 

Fitz seemed to relax slightly and sat back down. Jemma joined him, placing the oil lamp at her feet. It wasn’t truly dark yet, and she could still see him perfectly well. Those eyes, she thought, those eyes could light up a city. 

“So did you, did you have a pleasant day?” Fitz asked tentatively. 

“Yes!” Jemma replied rather quickly. 

“I-I had a rare day when I had the house to myself. Mama was out doing something or other with one of her charities, and Papa had a meeting in the village. They went out for some dinner this evening.” Jemma explained. 

“A-and you didn’t go with them?” Fitz asked. 

“No. Normally they would insist I attend something like that, full of eligible men you see, but it was uh, at Mr and Mrs Ward’s home, the politician you know, and the last time I was there, their eldest son had a little to much too drink, and his hands wandered to rather ungentlemanly like places when we were dancing and I may have shoved him back, shouted at him that he was a pig and stamped on his toe.” Jemma admitted, her face going red. 

Fitz, to her surprise, burst out laughing. 

“Did you really? I bet that was a sight to be seen.” Fitz choked out in between his laughs. 

The laughter was infectious, and soon Jemma found herself joining in. 

“If it isn’t rude of me to say, it sounds like he deserved it.” Fitz added, once he’d regained himself slightly. 

“No, no it isn’t. And yes, he did. Even after too much wine a true gentleman would never dream of taking such liberties. I never liked the Ward’s really. Mama and Papa no doubt think it’s a punishment for me to miss out, but really, having the house to myself like this really is so much more preferable. Then I can do as I please.” Jemma sighed. 

“I’m sorry.” Fitz said softly. 

“Whatever for?” Jemma asked, surprised. 

“Your parents, they don’t seem to give you much liberty. W-with the engagement and hiding in the garden to read your magazine, I-I can’t imagine having my life so controlled like that.” Fitz said tentatively. 

Jemma sighed. 

“I’m used to it. When I was younger it used to frustrate me to no end, and on some days it still does, but I have found my ways of coping with it, those little things like sneaking my magazine out to the garden, keeping my studies in my room, they bring me enough joy to keep going. How I’ll manage when they’ve married me off to Mr Milton I don’t know. Perhaps I will have to find new ways of coping.” Jemma mused sadly. 

Her eyes fell on Fitz, and his eyes were a perfect mixture of concern and pity. 

“Oh please, don’t pity me. Others have it far worse.” Jemma insisted. 

“But if you’ll permit me to say, it’s no way to live a life. Surely you should be at liberty to do as you please.” 

“I think few people in the world truly enjoy that luxury Fitz.” 

Fitz gave a small nod.

“Perhaps you’re right, but that still doesn’t mean that it’s okay.” He conceded. 

“No, no maybe not.” Jemma said quietly. 

There was silence between them for a minute. Jemma wracked her brain for something to say. Shifting slightly where she sat, she felt the magazine in her coat pocket. Letting out a small internal sigh of relief, she pulled it out and placed it neatly onto her lap. 

“A-anyway, did you get a chance to read anything of it yet?” She stammered, smoothing her hand over the front cover. 

Fitz looked as relieved as she felt. 

“I did, a-and I had some thoughts on the article about the new planes that they’re building at the moment.” He stammered, taking the magazine from her lap.

His hand brushed her knee as he did so, and Jemma felt that rush again, flowing, coursing through every part of her body. Fitz talked elegantly, competently, and so very intelligently about the planes, and about just about every other article in the magazine too. Their conversation soon diverted, and he was telling her about himself, about growing up in Glasgow, about losing his father, how lucky he was that someone took him on as an under gardener when he was sixteen, about the chauffeur at his first house teaching him how to drive, and nearly crashing a very expensive Rolls Royce into the side of the garage. She’d never had a conversation like it. For once, for the first time really, Jemma felt as if she was speaking to an equal, to someone who really understood. His eyes lit up when he spoke, his hands gesturing alongside him, adding to the enthusiasm and love that he evoked when he spoke about the many projects he’d like to undertake. Jemma thought that she would quite happily listen to him all day. They debated too, going back and forth on so many different topics, Jemma easily lost count. Somehow, Jemma felt as if she’d known Fitz her whole life. Being around him just felt natural, like it had always meant to be this way. Jemma took a second to glance down at her watch and gasped. 

“My goodness! It’s half past nine!” She exclaimed, looking up at him. 

Suddenly, she was aware of how close he was. Of his leg touching hers. They’d been out here for over two hours. It had felt like only a moment. 

“O-oh. Should you be getting back?” Fitz asked. 

“N-no. It should be fine. Clark won’t lock up until Mama and Papa are home, and knowing them that won’t be for another few hours yet.” Jemma reassured him. 

“I-it’s getting dark, Jemma, are you sure you shouldn’t…” Fitz started. 

“Really! It’s fine Fitz! I-I’m sure it’ll be fi-” Jemma started. 

“Milady!” A voice came in the distance. 

“Milady are you still out here? You’ve been gone for hours!” 

Jemma sighed in frustration, her eyes closing for a moment. 

“Yes! I’ll be right there Wilson!” She called, trying to keep the irritation from her voice. 

She turned to see Fitz gazing at her, wide eyed. 

“I should go.” She whispered softly. 

In return, Fitz nodded, before hesitating for a second. Just before Jemma started to move, Fitz reached out, and took her hand gently into his, bringing it to his lips. The kiss he pressed to the back of her hand seemed to radiate throughout her entire body. 

“Goodnight, Jemma.” Fitz said tenderly, his eyes meeting hers. 

Jemma could still feel his breath on the back of her hand as he spoke. 

“Goodnight Fitz.” She whispered back, giving his hand a small squeeze, before reluctantly pulling it from his grip. 

It did not take very long for her to find the maid that had been calling for her. 

Are you alright milady? You look rather flush!” The young woman exclaimed upon seeing her. 

It was true, Jemma could still feel the blush that was raging across her cheeks. 

“I’m perfectly well, thank you Wilson. I’ve been walking for a while. I must have lost track of the time.” 

At least part of that statement was true. She had lost track of the time. Casting one last glance to the hedge, behind which she was sure Fitz was still sat, Jemma knew that she could have sat there and talked for the entire evening, perhaps even through until the morning. She’d never met anyone like him. Something about Fitz seemed to shake her to her very core, but not in a bad way. It was very different from the deep seated fear she felt at the loss of her liberty, at the idea of her parents selling her off to the Milton’s as if she were mere cattle, no. This was something else. This, this was thrilling. 

Jemma had a hard time sleeping that evening. This feeling was new. She’d never felt anything like it. It was more than just attraction. That she’d felt before, but it had quickly fizzled through inane conversation, or ugly opinions about her interest in science. Fitz didn’t dismiss any of it. But really it was no matter. He was a gardener, under her family’s employ. Nothing could happen, nothing truly could happen between them. Whilst society had become more lenient these days, she had no doubt that the gossip magazines would have no problem splashing the story of Sir Arthur Simmons’s daughter, his only child and heir to the estate, running off with their gardener. But still Jemma couldn’t seem to banish Fitz from her mind. 

It took Jemma a few days to find him again. She wondered if he was hiding from her, but she had no idea why. Everything that had happened that night, it had all been entirely mutual, or so she had thought. She wandered the gardens determinedly one morning, an old letter from Daisy swinging in her fingers as her excuse. The gardens were so vast it took a while to find him, but find him she did. He was on his own, no one else was in sight, tending very carefully to a bed. Jemma watched him for a moment, watching as his clever hands pruned and plucked, tenderly placing the excess into his basket. Heat seemed to prickle up her neck again as she watched, some very unladylike thoughts about the cleverness of his hands rising to the front of her mind. Giving herself a shake, Jemma walked over to him, determination in her eyes. 

“Have you been avoiding me?” 

Fitz must have jumped at least a foot. 

“Goodness Jemma! You gave me a fright!” Fitz squealed, turning quickly to face her, fumbling with his pruning shears. 

Jemma couldn’t help but smile at the flustered look on his face. It was most endearing. 

“N-no, I’ve not. I promise!” Fitz insisted when her question had finally sunk in. 

“It’s just been busy.” 

He wasn’t lying. Jemma didn’t know how she knew it, but she did. Perhaps it had been because she had just scared him senseless, or because he had some thrillingly soft and gentle look across his eyes. 

“T-that’s fine, I just hoped that you weren’t regretting the other night in any wa-” 

“No!” 

Fitz’s eyes widened as he jumped up from where he’d been kneeling. 

“No! I promise, Jemma! That night was wonderful, I-I” 

“Oh, oh good! It’s just Mama and Papa are going out again tomorrow night and I was wondering if you’d like to do the same again?” Jemma asked tentatively 

“Yes!” 

The question had barely left Jemma’s lips before Fitz had shot back his answer. Something inside of her seemed to glow. 

“R-really?” She beamed. 

“O-of course! Same time, same place?” 

“Yes!” 

Joy seemed to course through her veins at that moment. Nothing, apart from perhaps science, had ever made her feel like this before. They stared at each other for a moment, both beaming like jesters. 

“I-I should let you get on. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble, not on my part.” She stammered after a moment. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow night Fitz.” 

“Looking forward to it, Jemma.” Fitz smiled, tipping his cap at her once more. 

Jemma sucked in a deep breath as she walked away. She both knew and did not know what it was that she was doing. Fitz made her happy and from what she could gather, she made him happy too. There couldn’t be anything wrong about that. 


	2. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma and Fitz's friendship flourishes in the privacy of the rose garden, but one evening, one afternoon, and one morning can change everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies!! 
> 
> Thank you so much for all of your wonderful reactions to the first chapter!! They truly were a joy to read! SO, we are at the chapter which earns this fic its rating, so please be aware of that before you go diving on in! As always I am PETRIFIED of posting smut bc I am still relatively new to it so please be gentle with me, I am always v nervous about posting this kind of thing. Anyway, enough gabbing, I will let you get to the reading! 
> 
> Enjoy!

_ The red rose is symbolic of passion, of deep romantic feelings, longing and desire.  _

Jemma’s late night meetings with Fitz did not end at two, or three or even four. Almost a month and a half after Jemma had first ran into Fitz in the garden, they were meeting up as much as they possibly could. Every time her parents left for even a few hours, Jemma found herself in the alcove of the rose garden with Fitz. Jemma couldn’t remember a time in her life when she’d been happier. That year in Switzerland, with Daisy was a close second. Fitz was kind and sweet and the most perfect gentleman. Every night they met he always kissed her hand gently, just before she left. He was intelligent too, far too intelligent to just be a gardener for the rest of his life, she thought. But he said he was happy. He enjoyed his work, his fellow gardeners were his friends. But still, Jemma knew he could do more, but she wouldn’t push him. 

They had just spent another wonderful evening in the alcove, Fitz had gone on for a full half hour about the new improvements they were making to aircrafts these days, his hands gesticulating wildly and enthusiastically whilst he spoke, and Jemma felt herself fall just a little bit more in love with him with every word he spoke. Love. It hadn’t taken Jemma long to figure out that that was the feeling that rose in her stomach everytime she thought of Fitz, never mind spend longer than five minutes in his presence. Jemma felt as if she were glowing with it, and it was a wonder to her that no one could see it radiating out from her in waves. Looking down at her watch, Jemma’s stomach sank. 

“It’s late.” Fitz said, as if he had read her mind. 

“You should be getting back. Before they come looking for you.” 

Somehow Jemma had managed to keep the staff at bay, avoiding another interruption like the first time, usually by telling them that she was just going to retire to her room to read, before sneaking out with one of the lamps. As long as she was back in before her parents got home, which, usually with these affairs, it was usually one o’clock in the morning before they arrived home, and before Clark locked the front door she would be fine. It was only half past nine after all. Regretfully however, Jemma nodded, she would really rather be safe than sorry. As always Fitz took her hand into his and pressed his lips gently to the back of her hand. The warmth that normally spread through her seemed to intensify this time. Both of them stared at their hands, and slowly, Fitz moved his in order to take it properly, lacing his fingers through hers. 

“Jemma.” 

“Fitz.” 

They both spoke at the same time, their voices both low and breathy. 

“I’ve had a wonderful evening, with you, Fitz. In fact I cannot remember one I have enjoyed much more.” Jemma whispered softly. 

She watched as his eyes flit, just for a moment down to her lips, and her heart seemed to leap. 

“Me either, Jemma. It’s been wonderful. You are most wonderful.” Fitz breathed. 

His eyes fell down to her lips again and before Jemma had a moment to think, his lips were on hers. It was the most marvellous, dizzying, exhilarating feeling. Jemma eagerly pressed her lips back against his, and somehow found her hand winding its way to the back of Fitz head, her fingers tangling most deliciously in his curls. Fitz’s free hand stayed respectfully at her waist, holding her close. And then suddenly it was over. Fitz had let go of her and had backed away from her before she could so much as blink. 

“I am so sorry milady. I-I don’t know what came over me, p-please forgive me.” He stammered, not looking at her. 

“Fitz.” Jemma sighed. 

He looked up at her, and she leaned forward, taking his face in both hands, kissing him soundly. 

“There is nothing to be sorry for.” Jemma whispered, as she pulled back. 

“T-truly?” 

“Truly.” Jemma affirmed, pulling him in for another kiss. 

It was the best feeling in the world, Jemma thought, kissing Fitz. The warm heat from before seemed to turn into a blazing inferno. All she knew is that she wanted him closer, as close as possible. His tongue grazed her lip and Jemma sighed into his mouth, her hands caressing the side of his face. Fitz’s arms wound around her, pulling her, holding her close to him. She could feel every breath he took, every move he made in this position. Their kisses grew more heated and Jemma felt as if she had died and gone to heaven. This was bliss. How could anything on earth be better than this? She let out a small whine as Fitz detached his lips from hers, but groaned as his lips began trailing their way down her neck. Fitz placed heated kisses all the way down to her collarbone before pulling up, panting. 

“W-we should stop.” He gasped. 

Jemma just shook her head and leaned forward, capturing his lips with her own again. Fitz responded for another glorious moment before pushing back again. 

“Jemma. We should stop. B-before we do something we regret. I wouldn’t want to take advantage of you.” Fitz said again. 

“Fitz, my darling, I’m practically in your lap. If I hadn’t wanted this, you know that I’m more than capable of saying no. Would you like to stop?” Jemma asked breathily. 

Fitz gaped at her for a moment before kissing her soundly. 

“I-is it truly what you want? Ar-are you sure you know what you’re asking?” Fitz asked in disbelief. 

Jemma let out a small giggle. 

“My darling, I’m a biologist. I’m well aware of what goes on between a man and a woman.” Jemma smiled wryly at him. 

She watched as Fitz gulped. 

“Truly, you are sure?”

Jemma leaned in and kissed him softly. 

“More sure than I have been of anything. I-I’ve never met anyone like you before. You are wonderful, and sweet and kind and considerate. You don’t laugh at me for wanting to be a scientist, you encourage it. You have the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen and when you kiss me, it, it may sound silly or childish, but it feels like it was always meant to be this way. I want this Fitz.” Jemma assured him. 

“Me too. Y-you’re wonderful. Like no one else I’ve ever met.” Fitz stammered. 

Jemma couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. She kissed him again, her hands finding the lapels of his jacket, and began pushing at them gently. 

“Jemma w-wait.” Fitz said softly. 

“My cottage. My cottage isn’t far. We shouldn’t- I mean- not here.” He stammered. 

Jemma smiled before leaning in and kissing him gently. 

“Of course.” She murmured back, jumping up from his lap, and offering him her hand.

Fitz took it, almost in a kind of disbelief, and began to lead her through the maze of hedgerows and flowers. They didn’t speak as they walked, but a kind of electricity seemed to crackle between them, an understanding of what they were doing. The gardeners cottages lay at the far edge of the estate, far away from the house. Jemma remembered visiting them when she was small, when her father had been refurbishing them. The memory of fresh paint and newly sanded wood lingered in her memory as she thought of them, but that had been some years ago now. Fitz lived in the smallest of the cottages, only two rooms, as he had no wife or family, like some of the other men. The smell of paint had long gone, Jemma thought as she entered through the doorway. Fitz gently took his hand from hers and began turning on lamps and lighting candles, and the place became aglow with soft yellow light. 

“Sorry it’s not tidier. I don’t usually entertain here.Y-you can leave your shoes at the door.” Fitz said, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

Toeing off her shoes, Jemma took a good look around the small room, before placing them next to Fitz’s at the threshold. It was true that it wasn’t the neatest of places, there were dishes in the sink, books and clothes strewn about the place, but there was something about it that was so very distinctly Fitz. 

“It’s wonderful.” Jemma said softly, slowly making her way back over to him. 

Gently, Jemma reached out for Fitz’s hand, slowly tangling their fingers together. 

“You’re sure?” Fitz asked, their breaths mingling together now. 

“Entirely.” 

Jemma closed the miniscule gap between them and captured his lips with her own for the umpteenth time that evening. Things became heated rather quickly, Fitz’s jacket and tie being discarded onto the floor along with Jemma’s own shawl, and Fitz slowly guided them to the only other room in the cottage. Gently, Jemma felt the back of her legs hit the soft combination of his mattress and blankets and a thrill rushed through her. Fitz held her face in his hands as he kissed her, and it felt as though she were being worshipped, his lips beginning to make that sinful passage down her throat again, and she began to unbutton his shirt. Slowly, Jemma found her own shirt being pushed from her shoulders, Fitz kissing down the soft skin of her shoulder, pushing the straps of her brassiere down. Without a second thought, Jemma reached behind her and undid the clasp, tossing the offending item to one side. 

“Jemma.” Fitz breathed, taking in the sight of her for the first time. 

Jemma felt herself go red, and distracted herself by pushing his braces from his shoulders, bringing the rest of his shirt with them. Fitz stepped back and pulled off his undershirt, before quickly gathering Jemma back into his arms again. Pulling at the zip of her skirt, Fitz was surprised to feel further satin above her navel. 

“What in god’s name is this?” Fitz murmured, running his hands across the satin contraption, as Jemma’s skirt fell to the floor. 

“My girdle. There’s hooks and eyes at the side. Mama insists on it. For my figure she says.” Jemma explained breathily. 

“Nonsense.” Fitz murmured, running his hands gently over the edge of the garment.

Fitz kissed his way down her side and his clever fingers began working at the small hooks, pausing to kiss every new swathe of exposed skin. Finally, Fitz tossed the girdle somewhere into the abyss of his bedroom, before gently tugging first her stockings, and then her knickers down her legs, leaving her fully bared to him. For a moment Fitz just stared at her, half in awe, half like he would like very much to devour her whole. Jemma felt herself flush a deeper shade of red than she had ever experienced in her life. 

“You’re so beautiful Jemma.” Fitz breathed. 

He didn’t even give her an opportunity to respond, diving forward and kissing her soundly again. Fitz groaned as her fingers found the waistband of his trousers, and even more so when she found the button. Soon his trousers and underwear joined hers on the floor and Jemma found herself tugging him backwards, onto the bed. She captured his lips in a searing kiss, before giving him a good once over. 

“You’re beautiful too.” She whispered, reaching up to graze her hand over his cheek. 

“Jemma I-uh I should tell you, I haven’t, I haven’t- uh…” Fitz stuttered. 

“Me neither. We shall learn together.” 

“F-from what I’ve heard, what I’ve been told really, y-you may not like it, the first time.” 

Jemma let out a small giggle. 

“Oh my darling. I cannot imagine that. Besides…” Jemma said, pausing only to lean up and capture his lips in a heated kiss. 

“There’s many things we can do together.” 

Fitz just gaped at her for a moment, before Jemma kissed the look from his face. Taking his hand, Jemma guided it carefully between her legs, letting his fingers run through her folds. She gasped into his mouth, and Fitz pulled back. 

“W-what?! Did I hurt you?” He uttered quickly. 

“No, no darling. That felt good, very good. Keep going.” Jemma gasped.

They continued like that for a while, Jemma encouraging him, telling him what she liked. Fitz, as Jemma could have guessed, was a quick learner, and soon she found herself on the very edge. 

“Fitz, Fitz my darling, I’m ready.” Jemma moaned. 

She felt his hand stop, his lips raised up from where they had been deliciously devouring her collarbone. 

“Make love to me.”

Fitz just smiled in response, looking at Jemma as if she had hung all of the stars in the sky. Gently, carefully, Fitz guided himself into her. Jemma winced at the initial stretch, causing Fitz to stop dead in his tracks. 

“Am I hurting you?” He blurted.

“No, it-it pinches a little, but keep going, please.” She assured.

Fitz kept going, stopping only when he had reached the hilt. Jemma’s entire head seemed to swim. It was as if there were only the two of them in the entire world. 

“C-can I move, Jemma, love?” Fitz uttered.

Jemma nodded, and slowly Fitz began to rock into her, Jemma lifting her hips up to meet his in time. It was the most extraordinary feeling, as if she were burning from head to toe, but in the best possible way, pleasure radiating from her core, where Fitz’s thrusts were getting firmer and more confident. Nothing else in the world mattered. Fitz shifted his hips slightly and suddenly Jemma saw stars behind her eyes. The whole world blacked out for a moment, before coming back into a soft, hazy focus. Fitz was pressing the most precious kisses to her throat as he continued to work himself inside of her, his gasps were like music to her ears and Jemma felt that heat rise in her again. Before it could come to anything however, Jemma felt Fitz stiffen above her as he spent himself inside of her. Catching his lips in a lazy kiss as he came back to, Jemma knew now that she had never felt happier in her life. Wincing slightly as Fitz pulled out of her, and rolled onto his side, his chest heaving, Jemma curled up into his side, and pressed soft kisses to his chest. 

“Well, that was quite marvelous.” Jemma sighed happily, one she had regained her breath. 

Fitz wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer, turning his head slightly to look at her. 

“Truly?” 

“Truly.” She affirmed, leaning up slightly, catching him in a long, slow kiss. 

They lay there for a while, just wrapped up in each other. At some point Fitz pulled a blanket over them both. Jemma hadn’t been aware that she’d even fallen asleep until the chiming of a clock somewhere in the cottage woke her. It was still dark outside, but Jemma sat bolt upright, bringing her watch up to her bleary eyes. 

“Wha’ is isa?” Fitz mumbled sleepily, rubbing at his eyes, his brogue thicker than Jemma had ever heard it. 

“It’s midnight!” Jemma exclaimed, scrambling out from under the covers, trying to locate her clothes. 

“Oh!” 

“Yes! Mama and Papa may be home any moment and I need to sneak back in, and I don’t particularly fancy shimming up a drainpipe.” Jemma rushed, pulling on her clothes haphazardly. 

Jemma heard Fitz let out a small chuckle at this, but was much too occupied with trying to find the rest of her clothes. Throwing everything off here there and everywhere was all well in a fit of passion, Jemma thought, but absolutely no use when one wanted to redress in a hurry. Forgoing her girdle for now, Jemma tucked it under her arm, zipping up the back of her skirt. Her gaze found Fitz again, still sat on the bed, the blankets crumpled around him, his curls mussed from sleep and from, she guessed, her eager fingers. He looked like a dream, and it took every ounce of self will that Jemma possessed not to throw everything aside and rejoin him. Rushing over to the bed, Jemma captured his face in her hands and kissed him soundly. 

“Thank you, for the most wonderful evening. I shan’t ever forget it. P-perhaps, the next time my parents go out we could-” 

“Yes!” Fitz answered, not even allowing her to finish. 

“Yes, Jemma of course. This- this evening was wonderful.” 

He took her hand and pressed a kiss to it, as he always did when they said farewell. 

“Goodnight my darling.” Jemma whispered. 

“Goodnight, Jemma, my love. I will see you soon.” 

“And I you.” 

Jemma pulled him up for one last kiss, before, most reluctantly, pulling herself away from him. She pulled on her shoes, and closed the door behind her. Her entire body seemed to vibrate as she walked through the gardens, and as she sneaked up the front steps. She gave the front door a tentative pull, and most thankfully it opened. They weren’t home yet. Jemma took off her shoes, and went up the main staircase in her stocking feet, so as not to alert anyone to her presence. By the time she was back in her room, dressed for bed and tucked safely under the covers, the small clock on her mantle chimed half past. Letting out a long sigh Jemma closed her eyes and let the memories of the evening wash over her. It was thrilling, this little affair, for an affair was now the proper word for it after the events of the evening. As Jemma drifted off into sleep for the second time that evening, her mind was fixed only on a pair of the bluest eyes, and the feeling of his lips against her skin. 

As the months went by, Jemma’s affair with Fitz continued. They met always in the seclusion of the rose garden, and more often than not, ended up tumbling into Fitz’s bed together, relishing in the feel of one another, of loving one another as deeply as they did. Jemma hadn’t told a soul, had not even written about it to Daisy. Fitz had confided in her too one evening, as they lay curled around one another, chests still heaving somewhat, that he had not told anyone either. This was their world alone, and they agreed that letting the outside world in would not bode well. They were always careful. Jemma began carrying a copy of the key to the front door, just in case. No one ever saw them, and if they did, they never approached them or asked questions. When they were together it was just them, and they did as they pleased. Jemma never thought she could love anyone as much as she loved Fitz, but she was oh so glad to have been proven wrong. Her mother continued to drag her to Barton House as often as was polite, now that all five sons were at home, shoving her at Mr Harold Milton whenever she could. Jemma was polite, but never anything more. If anything, her liaison with Fitz, it showed her what love was, and made her even more determined that she would not marry Harold. And though he never said anything explicit, Jemma rather thought that Harold did not particularly want to marry her either.

**September 3rd, 1939, 11am.**

_ I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany. _

The words came out of the wireless to stunned silence. Jemma, whilst she had been anticipating it, couldn’t quite comprehend it. Next to her, her Mama had burst into tears. 

“Now now, Helena.” Her father said morosely. 

“We’ve done it before. I dare say it shall all end well this time too.” 

Sir Arthur patted his wife somewhat gingerly on the shoulder in an attempt at comfort. 

“W-what about the wedding? S-surely it’ll have to be postponed. I-I cannot imagine the Milton boys hanging around for long now. You know what their father was like last time. C-couldn’t have gotten him signed up quickly enough. Oh Arthur, what on earth are we to do!?” Helena Simmons sobbed. 

Jemma could not believe her ears. The prime minister had just declared that they were at war and all her mother could fuss about was this ridiculous wedding that she hadn’t even agreed to yet. Unable to listen to any more of her mother’s wailing about her being “on the shelf” and “who knows if he’ll even want her if he comes home?”, Jemma got up quickly and left the room, slamming the door shut behind her. 

Her feet led her to her usual path, down to the alcove. She sat on the bench and let out a loud sigh, bawling her fists into her eyes. God only knows what would happen now. 

“I thought I would find you here.” 

“Fitz!” 

Jemma quickly rushed up, and quickly found herself in his arms, her favourite place. Everything would be alright now that he was here. She was safe here. 

“I know Jemma, I know.” He murmured into her hair. 

Jemma let out a deep shuddering breath into his chest. It was all just too much. 

“Jemma.” Fitz breathed after a moment, pushing back slightly so he could see her face. 

“We need to discuss what will happen if I get called up. They’ll start conscription again, no doubt about it, and when I get called up-”

“Fitz no!” Jemma cried. 

“Jemma, please. When I get called up I-I-I- will you write to me my dear?” Fitz stammered. 

Jemma’s heart seemed to fall out of her chest and shatter into a million little fragments. 

“My darling, of course I will. But why are we even discussing this? It could be months, or years even before they get to you-” 

“Or it could be tomorrow. Jemma, my love, we need to be ready for whatever is coming.”

“I don’t want to lose you.” Jemma whispered, tears springing to her eyes now. 

She brought a shaky hand up to his face, her thumb grazing gently across his cheek. 

“Nor I you. But we must be realistic, my love.” 

A tear fell from her eye. The thought of a life without Fitz, it was unfathomable, not one worth living. 

“I love you.” Jemma uttered through her tears. 

“I love you too. We must make every second of our time together now. We don’t know when it might end.” He replied, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. 

Fitz let out a shuddering breath as Jemma cried into his shoulder. They would manage, they knew. Whatever this war threw at them, they could cope. 

**July 1940**

Fitz, unfortunately had been correct. Conscription had been reinstated the day after Mr Chamberlain’s announcement. Every day when the post came, Jemma waited with baited breath. The hallboy was first. Barely eighteen. That had been a difficult one to swallow. Then the cook, the last footman that they still possessed. Jemma knew that her father was grateful beyond words that their butler was too old to be called up. One would think that the world would go to pieces if Clark went away. But it already had, and Clark had stayed put. Her Mama had been right. All of the eligible Milton boys had gone down to the nearest conscription office as soon as they were able. At sixteen, the youngest son, Michael, was as mad as a box of frogs that he couldn’t go along with his older brothers. His constant protestations that he wanted to kill Nazi’s, when Jemma and Lady Helena went to call before they all went off to training, was more than a little grating for Jemma’s tastes. Jemma felt as if she were constantly on edge these days. She kept waiting for Clark to come in at breakfast, announcing as he had for all the staff that had been called up, that Fitz’s papers had come at last. Jemma spent as much time as she could with Fitz. Long nights making love in his cottage, passing notes back and forth during her walks in the garden, they even dared a walk through the village together on his day off. It really was incredible that they hadn’t been found out. Jemma wondered sometimes if she would even mind if they were. But she knew it would just end in the hushing up of it all, Fitz being dismissed in disgrace, and her being forced to marry Harold Milton the second he set foot back on English soil. No, that would not end well, not for either of them. They’d talked of running away together. But then the war had happened and it had been reduced to a far off fantasy. Fitz had asked many times if she minded that he was poor, that he couldn’t give her all of what she had become accustomed to, that she had known all her life. Jemma always silenced these worries with a kiss, saying that it did not matter how she lived, as long as she had him. And she meant it, she knew it down to the very depths of her soul. Every moment they spent together was divinely precious, especially now. As time went on Jemma’s fear of Fitz’s conscription only grew. They had been spared too long. Any day now, she would think.

Jemma had come to hate breakfast, flinching every time the door opened, whenever Clark looked as if he may say something, announce something to her father. It was waring, she thought as she sipped on her tea, despite the pert July heat radiating in through the windows, even in the early morning. Clark came in, as usual, bearing the tray of letters, Jemma waiting with bated breath. 

“I thought you might like to know sir, that another few conscription letters came with the post this morning.”

“Who are we to lose this time?” Her father grunted, as he snatched up the pile of letters.

“Two of the gardeners. Mr Fitz and Mr Hunter sir. They are both to report for their medicals in three days time and will join their regiment within the fortnight.” 

Jemma’s fork clattered onto her plate. 

“Are you quite well dear?” Sir Arthur huffed, looking up from the half opened letter in his hand. 

“Yes, quite. I-I just suddenly felt quite cold. Gave me a fright.” Jemma said, trying so very hard to keep her voice steady and straight.

“Women and their weak constitutions.”

But Jemma hardly heard the uncouth comment from her father. She did feel quite cold, as if someone had just walked over her grave. Food was no longer appealing and all she wanted in the world was him. 

“I-I might go take a walk in the gardens, get some sun into my bones.” Jemma said, unable to stop the shake in her voice this time. 

“As you wish dear.” Sir Arthur replied, not looking up from his letter. 

Jemma walked swiftly out to the gardens, breaking into a run as soon as she was certain no one would see her. She knew where he’d be. He was sat on the bench in the alcove, their place, with his head in his hands. Hearing her footsteps on the gravel he looked up. Devastation raged across his face. They were in each other's arms before Jemma could even blink. They didn’t speak, they just clung to each other, revelling in the presence of the other. 

“I don’t want you to go.” Jemma sobbed into his shoulder.

“Me either my love. But if I don’t they’ll chuck me in prison and I’ll be no use to man or beast there. I certainly won’t be of any use to you my dear.” Fitz murmured into her hair. 

“Better prison than a bullet to the head, or being gassed to death Fitz.” Jemma cried back. 

“Sshhhhh my love.” Fitz hummed gently. 

His voice shook and Jemma knew, knew that he was scared. 

“We should have run away when we had the chance.” Jemma murmured after a moment, after her sobs had stopped. 

She felt Fitz press a kiss to the top of her head. 

“I know love.” 

“When do you go?” 

“We report for our medicals in three days, and then if all goes well we report for duty the week after.” Fitz sighed. 

“That’s so little time.” Jemma whispered, tracing her hands across his face. 

“I know love. But we’ll make the most of every second we can.” Fitz said fiercely, probably more fiercely than he felt, bringing her hand into his and kissing it firmly. 

Jemma leaned in and captured his lips with her own, needing that closeness, that security of him. 

“I love you so much my darling.” She whispered against his lips. 

“I love you too Jemma.” 

Jemma could not say how long they stayed in that alcove for, just holding one another, trading soft kisses, neither wanting the other to be the first to go. 

She knew it was bad of her to hope, but Jemma so wanted him not to pass his medical, that they would find some small ailment that would excuse him, that would allow him to stay with her. Asthma would do, even. Mild asthma. But Fitz passed his medical with flying colours. Each day that went by Jemma’s heart felt as thought it sunk a little further, as she knew, every day, every hour, every minute that passed, was one minute, hour and day closer to losing him. Leaving his bed in the evening became so difficult. All she wanted was to spend the rest of her life wrapped up in him, warm in his bed, trading lazy kisses as they basked in their afterglow. She knew she could never love anyone else like this. That what they had was different, was special. It did not matter that he was a gardener, and she a lady, the daughter of a Baronet, none of it mattered when they were together. He could be king of a large and prosperous nation, and she a pauper and Jemma believed she would still feel precisely the same. 

The day before Fitz’s departure to training, saw Jemma in the alcove for most of the day. She could not bear to see anyone. Fitz had taken a short trip up north to see his mother and would be back in the afternoon, but already she missed him so much it was like an ache. How she could cope when he was not just in Scotland, but in a warzone, Jemma did not quite know. 

She snuck out after dinner, feigning a headache. Her parents never checked on her before they retired for the evening, so Jemma knew she was quite safe, her key to the front door stashed carefully in her skirt pocket. Tonight, Fitz’s little cottage felt like a million miles away, every step she took felt as if it were taking her further away from him as opposed to the closeness that she so desperately craved. She hadn’t even finished knocking on the door before it was wrenched open and she was pulled into Fitz’s arms. Fitz rained kisses over her face, shoving the door shut as he guided Jemma inside. 

“I missed you.” He mumbled against her skin between kisses. 

“I missed you too my darling.” Jemma sighed, tangling her fingers into his hair. 

Finally Fitz stopped at her lips and pulled her as close as he could, capturing her lips in a soft sweet kiss. 

“Jemma, a-about tomorrow, I-” 

“No.” Jemma cut him off. 

“Let us forget about tomorrow. Leave our worries for the morning. Just love me Fitz.” 

He wasn’t going to argue with that. Fitz’s lips trailed softly down her throat, taking his time, savoring each press of his lips against her skin. 

“Jemma?” He breathed, bringing his eyes up to meet hers. 

“Yes.” She blinked at him, her eyes wide. 

“Stay with me tonight.” 

“I-I cannot. They’ll notice I’m missing and I cannot just waltz in in the morning, Fitz I-” She started. 

“You have your key?” 

Jemma nodded. 

“Then stay. I have to leave early tomorrow morning anyway. Stay with me, walk me to the gates tomorrow morning and use your key to let yourself in. It’ll hardly even be dawn. No one will know. Jemma, please.” 

There was a soft desperation in his voice, to which Jemma knew she would never be able to refuse. She brought her hand up to his face, and ran her thumb over the rough bristles of his stubble. He looked quite handsome like this. Her Papa would probably call him a disgrace, an unkempt wild looking creature, but Jemma thought it suited him better than being clean shaven, enjoyed the feel of it against her skin. 

“Of course my darling. I’ll stay, as long as I can.” 

Fitz replied with a kiss, and Jemma revelled at the glorious feel of his lips against hers. They found their way, as they had so many times now, to the bedroom, but this time, this felt different. They had time, they could savour it. They undressed one another slowly, taking their time to slowly peel each layer away from each other. Fitz was well versed in the workings of her girdle now, but tonight, he unhooked it tenderly, leisurely, pressing a kiss to each tiny new piece of exposed skin, as he had done that very first night. The memory of it overwhelmed Jemma, and she felt tears spring to her eyes. When Fitz had finally placed her girdle to one side, he looked up and saw the look on her face, his own expression turning from delight to immediate concern. 

“Jemma?” 

“I’m fine darling. I just love you so very much.” Jemma said gently with a watery smile. 

In response Fitz trailed his lips across the now bare expanse of her stomach, and Jemma’s fingers once more found their way into his curls. The first time they made love that night it was slow, tender, languid. Lips trailed across skin as their hips met again and again, holding one another with absolutely no intent of letting go. They cried out their pleasure almost simultaneously, and Jemma had never felt so entirely loved in her whole life. The soft, slow kisses they traded in their afterglow gradually became more heated and their second time that evening was far more passionate, but no less intense than the first time. Jemma clung tightly to Fitz as he drove into her, and she forgot where he began and she ended. In those few most precious moments, they seemed to become one. Jemma curled into Fitz’s chest, glad she didn’t have to go running off into the night, as she normally did, grateful to hold him, to have him for these last few treasured moments. The dawn came too quickly, as it always did when one was dreading the events of the day to come. They made love again, even more tenderly than the first time that evening, their bodies catching the first gentle streaks of daylight that peeked through the curtains as they moved together in unison. Somewhere in the small cottage the clock chimed some godforsaken hour, and Jemma felt Fitz shift beneath her. She knew.

“It’s time to go, my love.” Fitz muttered sadly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

Jemma clung to him. 

“No, not yet. Tis’ the nightingale and not the lark.” She whispered into his chest. 

She felt him give a small huff of laughter. 

“It does feel rather Shakespearean doesn’t it my love. Forbidden romance, war, uncertainty.” 

“Let us hope that fate is kinder than Shakespeare’s pen. I could not bear to lose you.” 

“I know.” Fitz whispered, pressing another soft kiss to her forehead. 

They dressed in silence, Jemma into her clothes from the night before, and Fitz into the khaki coloured uniform that had been hanging from the wardrobe all evening, haunting them. Jemma hated to admit how handsome he looked in it. Fitz placed his cap on his head and turned to her and held out his hand. Jemma did not miss the shake in it before she took it. Fitz raised their joined hands and kissed hers softly. 

“You look so handsome.” Jemma whispered.

Fitz gave her a small smile. He was terrified. She could see it in his eyes. 

“You will be fine my darling. Just don’t do anything stupid and noble. Just keep yourself safe and come home to me, alright?” She said reassuringly, taking his face into her hands and kissing him soundly. 

Fitz could only nod. The clock chimed again and Fitz closed his eyes, letting out a long shaky breath. 

“Time to go.” 

“Wait. I have something for you.” Jemma said hurriedly. 

She reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out a handkerchief and a photograph. 

“So you can always have me with you. I got the photograph taken when you were away.”

Fitz gazed at the two items now in his hands as if they were the most precious things he’d ever held. He ran his finger over the carefully embroidered letters on the handkerchief, “J.A.S”. 

“Thank you.” He breathed. 

Gently he tucked them both into his left breast pocket. 

“Next to my heart. Where you belong.” He said, giving the pocket a gentle pat. 

“We should go.” He said after a moment, taking her hand into his. 

Jemma nodded reluctantly, giving his hand a small, reassuring squeeze. 

They walked to the front gate in silence, Jemma’s hand gripped tightly in one hand, his knapsack swinging from the other. In any other situation it would have been picturesque. The early morning glow, the lovers holding hands as they walked along the long driveway. Despite the fact that they had taken a leisurely pace, the gates still came into view too quickly. Eventually they came to a stop, Fitz dropping his bag and pulling Jemma into his arms. 

“I shall write as often as I can my love. Don’t be worrying about me. I’ll be fine. I have every intention of coming home in one piece.” Fitz murmured into her hair.

Jemma couldn’t help the tears that came with his words. 

“Just come home.” She sobbed into his shoulder. 

“I promise Jemma.” 

She heard his voice breaking and it seemed to tear her heart to pieces. She brought her head up from his shoulder and caught him in a long, slow kiss. Jemma never wanted it to end. Their foreheads came together as they gently came out of the kiss. Tears fell down both cheeks now. 

“I love you Jemma.” 

“I love you too Fitz.” 

Carefully Fitz dropped her hand, and bent over to pick up his knapsack, slinging it over his shoulder. The rising sun seemed to light him up like a beacon, the two sides of the gate framing him perfectly. Jemma wished she could capture the image and hold it. Never forget it. He gave her a slow wave before finally turning and walking out of the gates. Jemma stayed until he was out of view, and then she couldn’t stop the tears from coming. She had no idea when she would see him again, if she would ever see him again. The army may as well have called up her heart, torn it from her chest and ordered it onto the frontlines. She walked slowly back to the house, wiping her eyes, playing back the previous evening in her head, so as to bring her comfort. It was early still, so early that not even the servants would be up. Jemma unlocked the front door, and was careful to lock it behind her. Her entire being seemed to ache as she fell back onto her bed. It felt so cold, so empty, in comparison to Fitz’s warm cosy one where they had spent so many glorious hours. Jemma curled herself up into a ball and willed for sleep that she knew would never come. She missed him too much and she knew it would not get better with time, only that she would learn to cope with the permanent ache that had already taken up residence in her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading lovelies and I will see you next week for the last little part! 
> 
> See you then!
> 
> Skye :)


	3. Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Fitz gone off to war, Jemma is left to deal with the consequences of their love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AH it's the final chapter! This has truly come about so quickly I actually cannot believe it! Brace yourselves bc this chapter is a bit of a rollercoaster, but it is all worth it I PROMISE!!! Thank you all so very much for your lovely comments, and I hope you enjoy the last little bit of this story! 
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> Also please excuse me, I maybe threw historical accuracy out of the window at points of this chapter, but I had questions that APPARENTLY google could not answer.

_ The green rose is symbolic of harmony and of fertility. The colour itself is indicative of peace and tranquility. Green roses can also symbolise  _ _ best wishes for a prosperous new life or wishes for recovery of good health.  _

  
  


**October 1940**

The first few days that Fitz was away, Jemma felt hopelessly listless. She could not sit at peace, nor think straight, nor hold any conversation with any kind of coherence. His first letter arriving put Jemma at some kind of ease. Himself and his fellow gardener Hunter, had been assigned to the same regiment and were attending the same training camp, which gave Jemma some comfort. At least he had a friend with him. He never spoke much about what it was that they were doing, when he went to the front. His letters spoke of how much he missed her, reminiscences of their time together. Never, not once, did he speak of the future. It was as if he did not want to risk it. Jemma could only hope that her letters provided him with a similar feeling of comfort as his did for her. Apart from the slow and steady departure of every young and healthy man from the area, life at Kiftsgate seemed to go on eerily as normal. Each day the papers brought the latest news and Jemma couldn’t stand it, the atrocities of war being handed to her over her morning toast. The accounts from Dunkirk that past May had made her stomach turn. Never in her life had she ever felt so useless. It was pointless asking her father if she could do anything more than helping to organise fundraisers, she knew what the answer would be. However, soon enough, Jemma found a topic that drove her quite to distraction. 

She had been in denial for long enough. Jemma had not wanted it to be true. The first set of missed courses, she put down to stress. Fitz had been gone now for over a month and there was hardly a moment in the day that she did not think of him and miss him down to her very bones. The second, she hadn’t even noticed had been missing. Fitz hadn’t written in a week and she’d been out of her mind with worry. His letter, as it turned out, had been misdirected. The third, she very much noticed, but reasoned away. But now, with the fourth set of missed courses, combined with the small swell of her stomach that had now developed, Jemma could no longer be in denial. She was with child, Fitz’s child. And she could not tell a soul. Mama would probably faint or scream until she was blue in the face, and Papa, well, her Papa would probably, regardless of all the dangers he may face on the way, take the next ship over to Europe, pull Fitz out of the godforsaken place that he was and skin him alive. Of that, Jemma had no doubts. She’d sat down to write to him, to tell him on so many occasions now, but she could not find the words. She did not know how to tell him, nor did she want to distract him. That was the last thing he needed. He would have leave soon, she was sure of it, and she could tell him then, properly. Then they just had to figure out what to do. 

Jemma spent an evening letting out all of her skirts, grateful now for the many hours of needlepoint lessons she’d been subjected to as a child. Her hand grazed over her stomach several times, and felt both pure fear and utter awe strike through her. She and Fitz, they had created this life, with the love they had for one another. In any other circumstance, Jemma knew how overjoyed she’d be. Even without the war, this would be her ticket out, away from this life, from her parents and from that godawful marriage to Mr Milton. But now, she would just be some other fallen woman, hidden away like a terrible dirty secret until Fitz came home. If he came home. Jemma tried to shake the thought from her head, but she could not ignore it completely. There was a very real possibility that he would not come home to her. To them. 

Never in her life had Jemma been so thankful that her mother insisted on her wearing a girdle. She’d had to loosen the laces on it as she grew ever more bigger and bigger, but even to her Mama’s ever discerning eyes, Jemma only ever looked as if she’d had a large lunch. It was only when she undressed for the evening that the truth came into stark reality. Every night Jemma would gaze at her silhouette in the mirror, running her hands over the ever expanding little bump, the proof of her and Fitz’s love. Without it, Jemma wondered if she would think she had dreamed him, but the evidence of him lived beneath her ribs. 

The first time she felt the baby move, she was sitting at tea with her Mama and Lady Milton. She stirred her tea idly, not paying attention to whatever inconsequential conversation they were having. Something about the wedding presumably. Jemma couldn’t help but snort inwardly to herself. There were not many things one could be certain about during wartime, but Jemma knew that sooner or later, her condition would be discovered, and would put the wedding plans into utter smithereens. Suddenly, without warning, Jemma felt a small, but firm fluttering right underneath her ribcage, causing her to jump, spilling her tea all over Lady Milton’s opulent carpet. 

“Jemma!” Lady Helena cried. 

“I am so sorry Lady Milton! I-I-I suddenly felt the most peculiar feeling, a-as if someone had slipped ice down the back of my dress.” Jemma stammered, awkwardly clapping her hand to the back of her neck to try and sell her story better. 

“That’s quite alright dear.” Lady Milton soothed, a puzzled expression on her face. 

A servant was called, and the spill swiftly sorted, but Jemma felt shaken to her very core. There was now, no denying the small creature who resided within her. 

It felt as if the weather turned cold rather quickly that year. Jemma was grateful for it, the heavier clothing helping to conceal her condition even further. She’d begun speaking to the baby, in the evenings, just softly as she lay in bed in the quiet moments before sleep claimed her. She spoke of Fitz mostly, telling their child all about him, how she hoped they’d have his eyes, his kind nature. In fact the more the baby was like him, the better as far as Jemma was concerned. It had not taken Jemma long to figure out that this baby had been a product of their final night together. Really, Jemma had sighed to herself, it was a surprise that it had not happened before now, they had never been particularly careful. Thinking on it now, she knew it had been foolish of them, but what was done was done, and she could never regret one single second she had spent in Fitz’s arms. The words with which to tell him still escaped her. There were days where she wanted to scream, shout it from the rooftops for all the world to hear, when she missed him so much, she felt she could not move, when each toss and turn of their baby brought a new stab of pain to her heart. Still she told no one. If she was being perfectly honest with herself, she was frightened. She knew she would not be able to stand the looks on her parents faces if they found out. But they must find out eventually, that she knew. She knew she could not disappear one day and return suddenly with a child who needed a home, who looked miraculously like herself and the gardener who worked here before the war. No that would not do at all. But she knew she could not go on like this forever. Every time she found Fitz’s familiar writing in her hands, she prayed that he would be telling her he was coming home on leave soon. Then she could tell him, would have to tell him, and they could work out what to do together. But that news never came. And she couldn’t find the words to say it. But then, out of nowhere, Fitz’s letters stopped entirely. 

**December 1940**

It had been two weeks since Fitz’s last letter and Jemma felt like a wreck. Every possibility ran through her head. That he’d been injured, that he’d been taken as a prisoner of war, that he’d been killed… She tried her hardest not to dwell on that possibility. His letters had perhaps, been misdirected again, or had been delayed somehow, or maybe he just hadn’t been able to write. Jemma came to dread the mornings again, the lack of correspondence sending a small stab to her heart. This couldn’t be happening, not now. By her calculations she was about six months pregnant and hiding it was becoming increasingly more difficult by the day. Almost six months without him, and she needed him more than ever. He couldn’t be gone, he just couldn't. If something had happened to him, she had no idea how she would find out. His mother would be informed, but she wouldn’t think to tell her. As far as she knew Fitz hadn’t told his mother about her. Neither of them had told a soul. Her father may be informed, but she doubted he would think it of great enough importance, the death of their gardener, to tell her. 

A month passed, with no word, and Jemma was distraught. With each day that passed she became more convinced that he had been killed. Jemma spent all of her time either in her bedroom or in their alcove, endlessly reading over his old letters, trying to find a hint of where he was or what might have happened to him, but there was nothing. Finally, Jemma could not take it any longer, could not bear keeping it all to herself for a second more, and poured it all out into a letter to Daisy. How they met, their liaison, the baby, the fact that he was now, by all accounts, missing in action. Tears poured down her face as she wrote and by the time she’d finished, Jemma felt somewhat lighter. It felt good, even just to write it all down. To admit that she needed help. The thick envelope was sent first class, but god knows when Daisy would actually receive it. Over the next few days, everything seemed to become frighteningly real to Jemma. The baby, Fitz’s disappearance and highly possible death. Putting it into writing had somehow forced it all into true reality. It was exhausting. Jemma felt tired down to the very marrow of her bones.

It had been a week since she had sent the letter off to America and she had had no word back yet, not that she had been expecting it for some time. With the war, everything had been delayed. It was late afternoon and Jemma was dozing in one of the armchairs in the library. She had been reading, but it was so blasted difficult to keep her eyes open these days. She knew she needed to be careful, the bulge of her stomach all but impossible to conceal when she was sat down these days, but the exhaustion seemed to sweep over her in waves making it terribly difficult to concentrate on such a thing. Jemma felt the book slipping from her fingers, and felt herself just about to nod off when a voice pierced the perpetual quiet of the room. 

“A telephone call for you milady, in the study.” Mrs Bassett said in her usual clipped manner.

Jemma sat up like a shot. 

“From who? Did they say?” Jemma asked rapidly, her breath quickening. 

“A Miss Johnson milady. She said it was urgent.” 

Jemma felt her heart fall slightly. She knew Daisy would not be relaying news of Fitz, but still, it would be good to speak to her, to hear her voice. 

“Right, I’ll be there in a moment. Is Papa out?” Jemma smiled, trying to hide her disappointment.

“Yes milady, he left on business to the village about twenty minutes ago. Your mother accompanied him in the car. She was intending to call in at the vicarage about the fundraising concert.” Mrs Bassett replied diligently.

“Thank you Mrs Bassett.” Jemma nodded. 

She twisted her hands on the way to the study. Surely Daisy, of all people, would be kind, would not judge her. Of course she wouldn’t. Jemma had long learnt that Daisy was all but shock-proof. A lifetime spent seeing and hearing everything in her myriad of boarding schools had apparently desensitised her to the many behind the scenes scandals of society. But still, Jemma’s hands shook slightly as she picked up the receiver and held it to her ear. 

“Daisy?” 

“Jemma? Oh thank goodness. I just received your letter this morning, and I had to call! Why didn’t you tell me?! You poor thing, you could have told me!” 

Instantly, Jemma burst into tears, her free hand moulded around the small swell of her stomach that she could no longer easily conceal, cradling it gently. 

“Oh my dear. You truly love him, don’t you.” 

“With my entire being and beyond Daisy, and I have no idea where he is, if he’s dead or alive, or-or even if he’s injured somewhere and I don’t know what to do. Mama and Papa still don’t know and I cannot bring myself to tell them, it would break them. I would be ruined. The whole family would be ruined.” Jemma sobbed. 

“Oh Jemma. Does anyone else know? Did you write and tell him?” 

Jemma wiped her eyes, and managed to calm herself enough to reply. 

“No. I didn’t tell a soul, until now. I didn’t want to distract him or say or do anything that may cause him to do something reckless. I thought he’d come home, and then we could sort it together.” 

“Oh Jem. Listen, I have a plan. Have you contacted his regiment?” Daisy asked, her voice suddenly brisk and business-like.

“No, no I hadn’t even thought…” Jemma trailed. 

“Contact them.Tell them you’re his cousin or something similar and that you’re concerned because you haven’t heard from him in a while. Hopefully they’ll know what happened to him. If they haven’t gotten back to you within the next two weeks, or if the worst is really true, telephone me. I will book you passage over to New York and you can stay with me and we can figure out what to do together. I will look after you Jemma. I promise.” 

“W-what about your aunt? I’m sure she would have something to say about you taking in your pregnant, unmarried friend.” Jemma stammered. 

“Oh she doesn’t need to know. We can find you a ring and blag her some story about your husband being a war hero and you needing a change of scene and she’ll lap it right up.” Daisy replied nonchalantly. 

“A-and what about my parents? How am I to explain my sudden desire to travel overseas during a war?” 

“We’ll figure it out Jemma. We’re not at war yet and you’d feel safer or some such nonsense. It will all be fine Jemma, I promise.” 

A tear slid down Jemma’s cheek at her words. 

“Thank you Daisy. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” She whispered, wiping at her eyes again.

“Nonsense. I know you’d do the same for me if I needed help. Besides, you surprised the hell out of me.I thought I’d heard it all by now. Out of everyone I know, you were the last one I would have put my money on for having an illicit affair with their gardener.” 

She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips, the first one in a long time. 

“It’s not as if I planned to fall in love with him Daisy. It’s not exactly the type of thing one can plan.” Jemma sighed.

“I know. I assume your mother is still planning the wedding to that ghastly man, Milton. Has he even proposed yet?” Daisy replied. 

“No he hasn’t, I don’t know how I’ve managed to put him off this long. He shant propose now, not until the war’s over, and god knows when that will be. Papa told him it would be ungentlemanly to make a lady a promise he may not be able to keep. He didn’t seem in a hurry to argue with him. Sometimes I wondered if he was just as opposed to the match as I was.” 

“Well, if your little problem has any upside right now, it’s that you can be sure you won’t ever be marrying him. Not now.” 

“No, though I’m sure Mama would find a way to make it happen no matter what. She’s going to be so disappointed. They both will.” Jemma lamented. 

“Jemma, I’ve never met your folks but I don’t particularly like the sound of either one of them. I know I didn’t have the easiest childhood, but at least Aunt Agnes let me be when I turned twenty one. You never got that freedom, to do as you please. They still seem to rule you with a rod of iron, without even paying you that much attention. I mean, you’re six months pregnant and neither of them have caught on a whistle. This may be the best chance you get to get away from all that Jemma. To find some freedom.” 

Jemma could not deny that she was right. 

“Perhaps you have a point.” Jemma sighed. 

“Of course I do.” 

Jemma could hear Daisy’s grin through the telephone.

“You’ll find out what happened to him Jemma, I promise. And you will always have me. Always.” Daisy reassured her firmly. 

She only wished she could be so confident. They talked for only a short while longer, the phone call probably already having cost Daisy a small fortune. Relief seemed to wash over her as she settled herself back into her chair in the library, picking up her book again, running her idle hand over her belly. It felt good that someone else knew her secret now, and could help. Jemma let herself rest a while, knowing in herself that she’d reached a kind of emotional limit, before writing the letter to the head of Fitz’s regiment. She did not know how she hadn’t thought of this before, but she knew she was not thinking straight at the moment. Her concern for Fitz, for their child, seemed to trump all kinds of sensible thought. Snow began to fall that evening, and Jemma had to excuse herself from dinner. Fitz always loved the snow. Though the cold meant the death of all he tended to, he still loved it, the peace and serenity that a soft white blanket of snow could bring to the world, and god only knew, they needed some sense of peace and serenity at this moment. 

Christmas felt a dismal affair. Jemma could not rouse herself into the festive spirit, and she did not want to. She saw her Mama watching her carefully out of the corner of her eye, heard her whispering about her downtrodden spirits, about how Christmas during war-time was bound to be difficult. Last year hadn’t felt difficult, and they had been at war then. But she had had Fitz then, had spent a wonderful afternoon in his arms. She wanted him, here now. It had been a week since she’d sent the letter off to his regiment, and still nothing. She was running out of time. Her stomach was expanding by the day, and she knew it was only a matter of time before her Mama started asking questions. Her girdle could only do so much work. She knew how likely it was that she’d have to give the baby up, even with Daisy’s help, even if she did go over to America. Even there, even in the city she knew that a young unmarried mother would not go down well. She could not afford to be foolish about this. But she could not bear even the thought of it. This was her child, hers and Fitz’s and already, she knew she would give anything for it. Already, she knew, she loved it with all of her heart, would always love their child, that they had created together, that came from pure and utter love. 

The day of New Years Eve dawned crisp and bright. The snow that had fallen had lingered, making Kiftsgate House look like something out of a fairytale. But Jemma’s life felt further from a fairytale than anything possibly could. Nothing was comfortable anymore. Not her girdle, not any piece of clothing she possessed. She could not find a comfortable position to sleep in, sitting made her hips ache, and standing made something pull in her back. None of it compared to the ache in her chest. Tomorrow would be two weeks since she had sent the letter. If nothing came tomorrow, she was to phone Daisy and she would be on a ship within the week. And all she could think was that it wasn’t fair. She loved Fitz, more than she had loved anyone or anything else throughout her entire life. What did it matter that he was a gardener? What did any of that matter when she loved him so entirely and he her? Jemma couldn’t help the bitter regret that rose in her chest. They should have run, they should have ran as far as they could as soon as the war had been declared, perhaps even before then. 

She had kept to her room the past few days. Nobody disturbed her without knocking, and she could be as comfortable as she could get, her girdle packed far out of sight. Jemma had a beautiful bay window in her bedroom, which someone, her grandmother most likely, had turned into a comfortable sitting area. Before, Jemma liked to sit there and read. She had a full view of the gardens, all the way down to the driveway. Here she could sit and watch the world go by, and read to her heart’s content. Today, it was about the only place Jemma could find that was comfortable. Her pillows propped up at her back, her warmest shawl thrown over her shoulders, Jemma felt as though she could sit here for many hours quite happily. She would miss it. Whatever happened tomorrow, her life was about to change irrevocably. It was unlikely that she would be spending many more hours in Kiftsgate House. Running a hand over her stomach, the baby kicked against her palm, which brought a smile to her face. She was determined not to be sad about these things anymore, about feeling the baby move and kick and squirm at all hours of the day. Sometimes, she liked to imagine Fitz’s face, struck dumb in miraculous delight as he felt their child kick against his hand. This was not an image she could bring herself to conjure too often. It was too bittersweet. Jemma gave herself a little shake, and tried to focus on the task at hand. She’d put it off for long enough. She brought the pen up between her lips, chewing on it nervously before she brought it down to the paper in her lap, and began to write. 

_ 31/12/1940 _

_ My dearest Fitz _

_ If you’re reading this, you are in fact alive, a fact for which I am so grateful. It also means that you have come back to Kiftsgate and I am not there. Please know, first and foremost my darling, that I have not abandoned you, or given up hope on you. My heart will and always shall be yours. If you are reading this I am likely in America with my dear friend, Daisy Johnson. I know you will not know her name because you do not read those awful gossip papers, but she is a well known heiress and I can assure you, will take good care of me. If you do not return, I am to go to her in the next week, if I do not hear news of you before then. If you are reading this, and I hope you are, I shall leave her contact details at the bottom of the page, so you can find me, perhaps even join me in time.  _

_ Forgive me, please my darling, for I have not been entirely honest with you. I wanted to tell you in person but it seems that fate has planned something different for us. I wanted us to plan together, to figure this out together, but that is not to be. My darling Fitz, I carry our child, conceived, I believe the night before you left. I should have written, I should have told you, but I did not want anything to distract you, to make you do anything foolish. I know what you’re like, but war is no place for that my darling. It has been over a month since I last heard from you and I am so terrified that you have been taken from me, that you will never know our child. Please know that I will do everything in my power to keep our child with me. I will not let them go unless it is a last resort. They may be the last evidence of your life on this earth, and I will fight for them. I can only hope with all my might that they look like you my love, that they have your eyes, your smile. I may be able to bear losing you a little better if I have that constant reminder of you here with me.  _

_ Please, my darling, if you are reading this, let me know that you’re alive. Write to me, telephone me, send me a telegram. Anything.  _

_ I love you always.  _

_ Love _

_ Your Jemma.  _

Jemma let the tears fall freely as she signed her name. She would leave it in his cottage, hopefully for him to find if he returned in her absence. Despite it all, she could not let go of that last scrap of hope that he was alive, that he would come back to her. Carefully she folded up the letter and let it rest on her stomach. She would take a walk down to his cottage tomorrow morning, if nothing came in the morning post. Jemma closed her eyes and leaned back against the frame of the window, letting out a long breath, both arms wrapped around the round swell of her stomach. She sat like that a while, breathing deeply, before slowly batting her eyes open. It had begun to snow lightly, and Jemma watched for a moment as the small flakes fluttered down past her window. Then, out of the corner of her eye, something caught her attention. A figure was making its way up the drive. Shifting in her seat to see properly, Jemma wondered what the silly wretch was thinking, coming out in weather like this. As they grew closer Jemma could make out that they were hobbling, a crutch propped up under one arm as they slowly made their way along the drive. Why wasn’t anyone helping him, Jemma thought. Her eyes searched, but there was no one else around. Surely she couldn’t have been the only person to have spotted him. Getting up as swiftly as she could, Jemma began to rummage around for shoes, and warm clothing, determined to go and help the poor man. Shoes took her a while these days and by the time she straightened up and looked out the window once more, the man had moved into a better sight. Jemma let out a gasp. She would recognise those curls anywhere. She wanted to run, to fly down the stairs and out into the drive as quickly as possible. But she could not. Jemma resolved to move as swiftly as she could. By the time she reached the front steps he had not made much progress, his crutch leaving a funny pattern in the snow behind him. She could not get to him quickly enough. Finally, finally she reached him, throwing herself into his arms, sobbing freely. Fitz. The feel of him overwhelmed her. She heard a soft thud as his crutch fell to the ground and he wrapped his arms tightly around her. 

“I thought you were dead. I thought you were dead.” She sobbed into his shoulder. 

“I’m not, I’m here, I’m here Jemma.” Fitz whispered, his voice shaking. 

She could not tell you how long she clung to him. It could have been years, and it would not have been long enough. Eventually she pulled back, running her hand carefully across his face. It looked beaten and scratched, and a scruffy layer of facial hair was dusted across his jaw. 

“What happened my darling?” She whispered, her thumb catching on the soft scruff of his beard. 

“Not here. We shouldn’t be out in all this cold. You’ll catch a chill. Come back to the cottage.” He replied, his own hands coming up to glide over her face. 

Jemma couldn’t wait any longer and leaned in and kissed him firmly. 

“I missed you. So much my darling.” 

“I missed you too my love. I’m so sorry. C-come on. Let's get to the warm.” Fitz whispered. 

Jemma just nodded. Here was not the place. He leaned down carefully and picked up his crutch, and together they hobbled back to his cottage. Jemma felt as if she needed to pinch herself. He was here. He was alive. It was all going to be alright. 

As best as he could, Fitz lit a fire in the long empty hearth of his cottage, he had insisted on doing it himself, before hobbling to sit next to her on his battered old sofa. 

“I got shot. Right in the knee. I fell funny on my leg when it happened and ended up doing more damage. Hunter, silly git, got me out. I, unfortunately, owe him my life. Happened at the start of November, and they wouldn’t let me move out of the bed for a solid three weeks. I don’t know what painkillers they were giving me, but I didn’t know myself from Adam. I-I-I c-couldn’t write. When they did ease off whatever it was they were giving me, they had me hobbling about learning how to use my crutch. That was only a few days ago. I might not walk perfectly right anymore, the damage was too bad, they said. A miracle I didn’t lose it, they said. They only discharged me yesterday, but I got here as soon as I could. They said they’d inform my mother but I knew they wouldn’t know to tell you. Jemma I felt terrible. I knew how much you’d worry. I’m so sorry my love.” 

He’d taken her hand into his but he could not look at her. Jemma felt her heart shatter. Tentatively she brought her hand up to his face, gently bringing his eyes to hers. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for. It wasn’t your fault. I knew, I knew that you would write, if you could. I never gave up hope on you my darling. I’m just so glad you got back in time.”

Fitz furrowed his brow. 

“In time?” He asked, confused. 

Jemma let out a shaky breath, and slowly tangled her hand into his, bringing it under her heavy overcoat which currently hid the swell of her stomach. Gently, she placed his hand on her stomach, letting it spread gently over the place where their child still steadily grew. Without her girdle on, it was quite obvious to the eye. Carefully she shrugged off her overcoat, allowing him to take it all in. 

“Jemma.” Fitz breathed, his eyes flitted from hers to the swell of her stomach. 

“I’m so sorry my darling. I should have told you. I could not seem to find the right words. I-I didn’t want you to do anything stupid or noble, or distract you in anyway. I-If I hadn’t heard from you by tomorrow, I was going to go to America, to my friend, Daisy. She’s the only other soul who knows. I-I couldn’t tell anyone. I knew they’d- they’d take our child away and I couldn’t do that, I wouldn’t do that. A-america, I was desperate, Fitz, I didn’t know what to do, I knew you might be dead and I should have written. I should have told you.” Jemma sobbed. 

“Jemma.” Fitz breathed again, his hand moving tentatively across her stomach. 

“H-how long?” He stammered. 

“Nearly seven months. If I’ve done my maths correctly I believe it happened the night before you left.” 

Fitz sat in stunned silence for a few moments, his hand still moving gently back and forth across her stomach. 

“Our child. Oh Jemma, my love. I’m so sorry.” He gasped out eventually. 

“Sorry?! What on earth are you sorry for?!”   
  


“I-I left you. I left o-our child. If I had- if the worst had happened, they’d have taken it away and I would have left you in ruins. Jemma, how can you ever forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive you dear, dear man. I should have told you. I wanted to tell you, I just could not find the words. I was going to tell you when you came home on leave, but that never happened and then you disappeared out of the blue and-” 

“I’m here now. And I will do anything for you, you know that. And our child.” Fitz said firmly, taking her hand with his free one. 

“Marry me Fitz.” 

The words came out of her mouth before she could even think on them. 

“What?!”

“Marry me. Run away with me like we talked about all that time ago. If we leave tomorrow we could be at Gretna Green in hours.”

For a moment, Fitz just gaped at her. Just as Jemma opened her mouth to say, well she wasn’t sure what, Fitz leaned forward and captured her lips with his own. 

“Of course I’ll marry you Jemma, my love!” He exclaimed as he sprang back. 

Jemma felt as though she could burst. Pulling Fitz as close as she could, Jemma tucked her head gently into his shoulder, breathing him in deeply. Home. She was home. 

“B-but what about your parents? Your family?” Fitz stammered. 

“I don’t care. I don’t. My entire life they have restricted me, have told me what to do and what not to do, have not let me live my life the way I wanted to live it. You, this…” She trailed, joining their hands together again, bringing it up to the place where their child now resided. 

“This is my family now. I have all I’ll ever need right here. I’ll leave a letter, when we have a more firm plan. A life with you, with our child, that’s all I want Fitz.” Jemma breathed. 

With one hand remaining firmly on her stomach Fitz brought his free hand up to her face, and Jemma leaned gently into his palm, revelling in his touch. He kissed her gently and she felt that overwhelming feeling of being so entirely loved wash over her once more. They separated when Jemma let out a small “oof!” against his lips. 

“What? What is it Jemma?!” Fitz asked frantically, his eyes searching her face. 

With a small smile, Jemma silently guided their still joined hands to the place where she had just felt the baby give a sharp kick. Obediently, it kicked again, and Jemma watched with delight at the expression of pure joy that spread across Fitz’s face, a million times over better than she had imagined it to be. 

“Someone wants to say hello it seems.” Jemma smiled, her eyes not leaving Fitz’s face for a moment.

The baby kicked again at the place where their hands remained joined. Fitz’s eyes lit up at the feeling and Jemma felt tears spring to her eyes as she watched him lean carefully down and press his lips against the spot where the baby had just made its presence known. Her fingers tangled in his hair as he lingered over her belly. Jemma let the tears of joy slide down her cheeks as she watched him. He was so good and she knew she would never be able to fathom what it was that she had done to deserve such a man. They stayed like that a while, Fitz beginning to whisper sweet nothings to their child, both revelling in the knowledge that everything was going to be alright. 

They ran off to Scotland the next morning, catching the earliest train they could. By that evening, they were husband and wife. Jemma could not imagine a more perfect way to start a new year. They gave Fitz’s poor mother the fright of her life when they turned up on her doorstep the following day. As far as she had known, her son still lay invalided in an Army hospital somewhere, and had not expected him to turn up on her doorstep with a crutch under one arm and his heavily pregnant wife on the other, asking to stay until they got on their feet. Once she had moved past her shock, Mrs Fitz had been wonderful to them, and swiftly knitted enough clothes for the baby to last it a possible lifetime. Jemma had telephoned Daisy from the nearby phone-booth, explaining everything. Silence had filled Jemma’s ear for a moment before Daisy appeared to explode with joy on the other end, promising to send them and the baby the most extravagant gifts she could fathom. When the most gorgeous pram arrived at Fitz’s mothers doorstep two weeks later, Jemma could not help the smile that spread across her face. 

Fitz being invalided out from the army made life somewhat difficult for a while. They stayed with his mother whilst he recovered fully, the damage to his leg had been severe enough to cause permanent damage. With his crutch finally gone, he still walked with a small jolt in his step. Any kind of physical labour seemed to now be out of the question. It was then, a surprise when a letter arrived inviting Fitz to apprentice as an engineer for the RAF. Fitz had apparently shown himself to be quite handy before he’d been injured, and he had a kind superior officer who’d thought well of him. The base at Leuchars would provide them with housing and eventually a job and proper salary if he did well. He accepted immediately, and life suddenly seemed to bloom. Jemma meanwhile planned to attend university, when she could. When Fitz started earning again, they put away what little they could, but with Fitz impressing his bosses at every turn, Jemma knew it would not be long.

In the early Spring, Jemma gave birth to their daughter. They called her Posie, their own precious bundle. Jemma got her wish, as a pair of bright, sparkling blue eyes gazed up at her, the perfect copy of her fathers. Jemma sent her parents notice of her new address and a letter when Posie was born. They replied to neither, but Jemma did not much care. She loved her new life, with Fitz and their daughter too much to care. They lived simply, but happily, with enough love for all the world between them.

**The End.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A posy is small bunch of flowers. I wanted their daughter to have a floral name, an allusion to how they first met, but nothing truly overt as Rose or Lily or something like that, which was NOT EASY. I cast around for ages and then Posie just came to me in a fit of madness, and so Posie Jane FitzSimmons she is.   
> I have to give another big thank you to Kate (@rathxritter) for this WONDERFUL prompt, without it this story would not exist, so thank you very much Kate.   
> Thank you all so very much for reading! Your kudos and comments truly do mean the world!
> 
> Skye :)

**Author's Note:**

> See you next week for chapter two! 
> 
> Skye :)


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